Strength is Not Muscle
by Lisilgirl
Summary: They thought she was weak. They were wrong.  Sarah Hawkins


_A/N: This book, _Treasure Island _by_ Robert Louis Stevenson_, made me ache to watch the children's space movie that spoke to me on many different levels. What did I find when I watched it, but a fragile, strong, independent woman in Sarah Hawkins._

_She deserves a story. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own or take credit for the creation of Treasure Planet. This is meant for entertainment use only._

**Warnings: None.**

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><p>XXX<p>

Strength is Not Muscle

XXX

Everyone thought she was weak.

All those years without a man in the house, raising 'that hellion of a child', and never having enough money bought Sarah Hawkins sympathy...and scorn.

She knew what the neighbors said. They said that the rickety wooden boards that made the Benbow Inn were held together with dirt and sheer luck. They said Jim was a worthless piece of flesh that wouldn't get far in life; if he did, it was straight to the court system in the Core Planets and prison. They said that her husband had left her out of sheer frustration.

They said she was weak.

They were wrong.

XXX

Sarah swatted the brown strands of hair across her flushed face. The smile continued widening every second. Steam gently spread along the window; her slender hands were red from the hot water as she scraped a little more burned vegetable soup off the bottom of the pot. She let the moment sink in.

The party had been the most fun she'd had in years. Lights and decorations streamed down from the ceiling like the sun, relieving after the years staring at broken boards and fragile hopes. People had congratulated her on the ribbon cutting ceremony. Delbert had even taken her from the sidelines when the dancing broke out, cajoling her, "Sarah! This dancing is actually fun!" The puffy white treats and candies made her stomach sick as her boy continually pushed them in her mouth, a soft smile in his eyes. He teased. He laughed.

Her boy. Jim. He'd grown up.

When had that happened? She'd always tried to explain that he had ability to accomplish what she never had. A cadet! He had looked sharp and handsome in that white jacket with the pink Morph melding into an impromptu medal. Back straight. Chest out. Shoulders relaxed. Face smoothed into a warm smile. Her boy looked more and more like his father every day.

The ghost of a wistful memory made her lips twitch. She could still remember her husband's determined face, jaw tense as he simply walked out the door, leaving her like a broken shell.

That's why she'd been deathly afraid of Jim leaving to find his fairy-tale planet: he might not ever come back.

She had acted brave, but that night all she could think of were pirates, explosions, and the aching hope that he would forget about it in the morning. Yet that morning, Jim had been tough as nails, ready to leave his old life behind to find the blasted treasure. And she'd had to watch the second man of her life leave just as his father had.

Those weeks had been torture. The morning after Delbert had escorted him to the spaceport, she had met with the authorities to look through the remains of her business. The Benbow was destroyed. She stood like a wraith in the middle of what had been a cozy parlor as rain drenched the hems of her skirt; there was so much to repair and clean. But as the deputy continued murmuring on and on about the financial risks she'd taken that might pay for half of the damages, all she could think about was: _"I let my boy go."_

Despite the pain, she realized how foolish she sounded.

_"He's not a baby. He will come back to me."_

In that moment, she decided not to give up. She had managed to find several old heirlooms hidden in the fire-proof safe, including Jim's birth certificate, a few hundred credits, the inn's title and insurance records, and a little toy sailboat. She had held her personal holo-record close to her throat.

Hadn't she kept a business running on her own? Hadn't she raised a son who was adventurous and caring?

She could rebuild.

She could get the insurance money.

And Jim would come back.

She said it as a mantra when she woke, when she ate, when she slept, and when she visited the charred remains of her inn. She believed. After weeks, she'd cried when the letter had come about meeting Jim at the port. Relief. Love. Warmth. She remembered the light feeling in her chest because it meant things were falling into place. When he hugged her-

A creak from the kitchen door on the left drew her attention. Freshly showered, Jim entered in a tailored shirt and loose pants, his face content and calm. There was new confidence in his step. Plates and cups with leftover food were balanced expertly in his hands. "Here's the last of the dishes," he explained, setting them carefully next to her on the wide counter.

"Thank you," she smiled, returning her attention to the pot. She hummed a little tune.

The clinking of glasses and the splash from the water soothed her after the long night of dancing and singing and celebrating. Her world was glowing. She had a son in the military now, healthy and calm. Her new inn was extremely large and grand. She found herself happier than anything in the world.

"Mom?"

She glanced at her son. "Hmmm?"

When he didn't ask right away, she turned to face him more fully, smiling softly at his furrowed eyebrows. There was something on his mind. She remained quiet, simply letting him take his time. He ran a hand through his neatly trimmed brown hair, eyes flickering down to the tile.

"Why...why didn't you give up on me?"

The silence make her ears ring.

Sarah sighed, feeling her small shoulders straighten. "Jim..."

"No, I really mean it." Warm fingers tugged on her elbow, like he used to when he was a kid. Instead of patiently staring into his face, Sarah had to look up to meet his earnest eyes. There was hope in them, and confusion. She felt tears build behind her forehead. When had her boy grown so broad shouldered and tall? "Mom?"

She laughed, trying to ignore the overwhelming feeling of pride. How could she explain the feeling as he stubbornly refused her help while putting together a model starship? Or how she had caught him listening to the tales so late at night, cuddled under his blanket like it could hide him? Or the sight that his back strangely resembled her husband's, the night he left?

But then again...

She had put that pain aside. Her love for her boy had been more than the anger and hurt, even after the cops had dragged him into her establishment stuffed to the brim with patrons.

He needed to know _that_.

"Jim, I never even thought to give up," she murmured without thinking. Wiping her hands on the dry cloth, she gently squeezed him into a hug. His arms encircled her, his head lazily falling on her still curled chocolate hair. "Never, never, never."

A laugh rumbled through his chest. "I probably would have given up on me, so..."

Sarah felt the tears coming. In his own way, Jim was trying to express his love. Boys. She gently patted his stomach. "I tried to imagine what it was like for you without your father. I thought that whatever pain I was going through, you must be hurting tenfold." She peered up into his calm face. "You took his leaving hard."

His cropped hair seemed to reveal more of his face now; the ever-so slightly stubbed nose lifted as her son closed his eyes. She knew that look. He was doubting.

She continued fiercely, "I love you. I always, _always _am proud to have my boy, no matter how rebellious." She brushed his freshly shaved cheek with her hand; the stubble tickled. "You're my boy. I can brave pirates and thugs and those mean old policemen for you." She smiled.

Then Jim groaned. "Mooooom..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sarah pinched his cheek lightly, grinning from ear to ear, "Am I embarrassing you?"

Suds flipped into her face as Jim's fingers deftly dipped into the water and his face broke into a smile, slinking around her to the sink and grabbing for the hose. "Stand back!" He was laughing like he hadn't since he was a small boy, "I have...uh...a water spout and I know how to use it!"

Sarah smirked. "Then do the dishes." She nodded at his suddenly chagrined, amused face, and said, "I'm off to bed."

"Good night, Jim," she said. With a kiss on his cheek and a pat on his back, she stripped the apron off. It flew into the corner. A too-big coat and pair of slippers kept it company most nights.

Her left foot was about three inches through the door when Jim murmured:

"Thank you, Mom. For everything."

_It's the simple things that are the rewards,_ she thought. Speechless, the older woman turned away, salty tears beginning to slide down her face. When she was through the door, her hand lightly pressed on the handrail to the second floor, she sobbed quietly.

"You're welcome."

XXX

To Sarah Hawkins, strength was not muscle.

It was being able to cradle a boy after he had scraped his knee without crying. It was faking a smile for that same boy when her heart had shattered, and finally reaching the point when the curve of her lips was real. It was running an inn with a firm hand, trying to keep enough credits to get her hormonal teenage son a new coat that he would wear until it was threads. It was letting her boy experience the new world.

It was knowing he might not come back, and still letting him go.

Strength was unconditional love.

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